


Family Don't End—Or Start—In Blood

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fallen Angel Castiel, Family, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Claire Novak, POV Crowley, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire is kidnapped by demons, and Dean and Cas rush off to save her (with Sam not far behind). When Crowley calls with info on the case, they know there is more going on with this kidnapping than they thought.</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14 and follows the events of the previous parts of the Light's Grace!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean Should Have Known Better

**Author's Note:**

> Title and some character motivations are loosely adapted from 10x17.
> 
>  
> 
> **LG!V TIMELINE: April 2015**  
> 

Call it the Winchester Curse, call it rotten luck, call it whatever you want—the other shoe was always going to drop, and when it did, it usually dropped hard.

So yesterday, when Dean had finished puttering around the garage, tuning up Baby, actively avoiding the research and archiving that Sam and Cas were up to in the library, and had idly hoped another case came up soon because he was almost bored, he really should have known that thought would come back to bite him in the ass.

It’d been a few weeks since their last case, and Dean was starting to itch for something to do. He didn’t do well with too much downtime, probably because he’d never really had any and so he had no idea what to do with himself.

Today, the universe has a solution to Dean’s boredom. 

 

The front pocket of his jeans starts vibrating, but Dean’s hands are covered in soapy dishwater. He shuts off the faucet, grabs a towel, and is just about to dig out his phone when he hears Cas bellow his name and come crashing into the kitchen. The former angel is panicked, a look Dean has rarely seen. Angry? Sure: guy might not be an angel anymore, but his smiting face hasn’t gotten any less terrifying. Worried? Definitely: it’s one of the perks of spending time with the Winchesters. But panicked? There’s only one reason Cas would have that expression, and Dean’s stomach plummets.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asks, trying hard not to let panic creep into his own voice. Cas is holding out his phone and the text—sent to both of them—confirms his fears. It’s from Claire and it contains two words, obviously typed in haste and secrecy: **heklp dmeons**. As much as Dean wants to just freeze and shut down or wrap Cas in a hug, his hunter instincts kick in and he pushes down the on-coming freak out. Now is not the time. Now is the time to plan, to act. “Fuck, ok. We got her GPS on right?”

“Yes, Sam is tracking it now,” Cas replies, and Dean is relieved to see his partner’s angel-warrior face has replaced the fear that had momentarily overtaken him.

“Good, let’s go. Sam can update us on the road.”

Cas nods resolutely, but Dean knows, inside, Cas is barely keeping it together; he knows because he feels the same way. Before Cas can leave the kitchen, Dean grabs him by the shoulders and the ex-angel’s arms hang limp at his sides. Dean touches his forehead to Cas’, and his eyes close as he whispers, “It’s ok. We’ll get her back.”

“I know, Dean. I know.”

Dean lets go and they look deeply into each other’s eyes, reassuring and being reassured. Without another word, they leave the kitchen, but Dean pauses in the hallway and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He shoots off a quick text: **We’re coming…it’s gonna be ok kid. Call or text if you can.** He doesn’t know if she’ll get the text, but he doesn’t want to risk calling her; texting is far more subtle and easier to hide from captors.

Dean jogs down the hall after Cas, and even though he no longer has a personal angel to pray to, he still unconsciously sends up a prayer to whoever’s listening…and a threat, because that’s just how Dean Winchester operates.

_Please let her be ok and I’m gonna fucking kill whoever hurts her._


	2. Black Eyes

Once the Kyle-demon isn’t looking, Claire sneaks a look at her phone. She sees Dean’s text and a small flood of relief washes over her. The Kyle-demon’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror just after Claire stows away her phone again. Heather is in the passenger seat, and Claire still isn’t sure if it’s really her or not. Either it’s Heather and she still hasn’t realized there’s something wrong with Kyle or the demon possessing her is a much better actor than the one possessing Kyle.

 

They had been on their way to a movie at the theater in the mall a few towns over—Lebanon isn’t exactly a hotspot for entertainment—when Kyle mentioned wanting to stop at a family friend’s house to drop off some stuff on the way over; Claire hadn’t thought much of it and absently agreed, staring at the window while Heather chatted happily about something amusing that’d happened in her History class last period today. In the side-mirror, Claire could see Kyle’s face and she considered taking out her phone and doing some sort of totally cliché artsy shot…until he turned his head to check for oncoming traffic at a stoplight.

His eyes flicked black.

For a split second, her brain tried to convince her it was just a trick of the light, but she knew better. They had been inky and dead-looking. Heather continued to talk, but Claire couldn’t hear her; her brain was frozen, her senses turned off except for sight, and her eyes were locked on the side-mirror. _No no no no not this not my friends no._

After what seemed like forever but really couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, she tore her gaze off the mirror, schooled her face into something approaching cheerful and tried to follow Heather’s story. She couldn’t let Kyle know she’d seen; she didn’t want to tip her hand or force his.

Without realizing it, her right hand went to the back of her neck, just below the collar line, and she rubbed absently at the anti-possession tattoo Dean had insisted she get not long after she’d moved into the bunker. Just another example of the weirdness of her life: supernatural reasons aside, how many parental figures command seventeen-year-olds to get tattoos?

She stopped rubbing her neck and tried to act casual and oblivious. It must have worked, because she managed to send the first text to Dean and Cas without either of her friends, possessed or not, noticing.

 

Now she is looking out the windows, trying to get her bearings. She’s pretty sure the GPS on her phone is turned on, but any information she can give Cas and Dean will help them find her faster. Her brain is working rapidly, calculating odds and scenarios and escape plans, all the while suppressing the fear and panic threatening to overtake her. Claire may have no desire to be a hunter herself, but years on her own and months of living with the Winchesters have made her pretty good at shutting off her emotions to get out of a bad situation.

“Your friends kinda live in the middle of nowhere, huh?” Heather observes, and Claire notes an edge of concern in her friend’s voice; at this point, she’s pretty convinced Heather isn’t possessed. The Kyle-demon has pulled off of the main road onto what looks like either a dirt driveway or service path, and the car is jostling over the pits and ruts.

“Yeah, they like to keep to themselves,” the thing possessing her friend says dismissively. While his focus is on navigating the road, Claire shoots off another quick text and prays she doesn’t lose cell service out here.

**Dirt road off main road dunno where we arwe**

For once, Claire is actually glad she’s a teenager because it means she can more or less text without looking at her phone. She’s sure the texts she’s typed aren’t perfect but hopefully, they’re clear enough for Dean and Cas to find her. She doesn’t dare look down at her phone in case the Kyle-demon happens to catch her.

“You take us to all the nicest places,” Claire jokes, hoping to keep up the oblivious façade.

The demon looks away from the road and catches Claire’s gaze in the rearview mirror. A snake-like smile curls over his lips, and her blood runs cold. “Anything for a Winchester,” he sneers.

 _Shit who the hell is this guy how does he know about them and me? Ohgodohgodohgod…stop it, Claire…focus._ Claire can’t speak. She hasn’t told anyone at school about the Winchesters: her friends only know her as Claire Novak, and when Dean had accompanied Cas to the school, he’d simply avoided using a last name and only introduced himself as "Jimmy's" partner.

“Who’s a Winchester?” Heather asks as a cabin that looks like it was taken straight out of a horror film appears around a bend in the path. “Uh, Kyle…?” There is a definite tinge of fear in Heather’s unfinished second question. Neither the demon or Claire answers the first.

Next to the cabin is a weathered pickup truck, and the Kyle-demon pulls Kyle’s dad’s boring Camry up next to it, switching off the engine. Heather has retreated as far as she can into the passenger seat.

“How about we just stay here?” Heather suggests timidly, but with a brave-ish smile. “Claire and I don’t want to intrude on your friends…”

“Heather, it’s—” Claire begins, trying to comfort her friend, but the Kyle-demon is already out of the car.

He yanks the back door open and hauls Claire out, despite her thrashing and kicking. Another demon, possessing a woman in probably her thirties, has appeared—most likely from the cabin—and is dragging Heather out of the car. The new demon doesn’t even try to hide herself, her eyes a dead black. Claire realizes fighting the increased strength of her possessed friend is a pointless waste of energy, and she instead looks to Heather. The other girl’s eyes are wide and her normally dark skin looks paler from fright. Claire mouths “it’s ok” to her friend, but it’s a small comfort and Heather doesn’t look like she believes it. Claire doesn’t blame her.

“I thought you said you had just the Novak girl, Corbman” the newcomer spits at the Kyle-demon. There’s a small part of Claire’s mind that is glad to have a name for the demon in her friend, to help distance the evil from the fact that her friend’s body is committing the acts; it’s not Kyle’s fault.   

Corbman sneers again, the expression so unlike those of her mild-mannered friend. “Who cares, Talia. Just more leverage.”

“Who are you? What the hell do you want from us?” Claire asks. “I don’t know anything.”

“Don’t play stupid, Claire Novak. You know _exactly_ who—or what—we are and why we would want you,” Talia drawls ominously.

“Heather’s got nothing to do with this, just let her go and—” _Smack._ Claire sees white spots as Corbman’s open palm strikes her cheek and she can feel the coppery taste of blood from her lip.

Corbman pushes Claire roughly, and she nearly falls to the ground. “Walk,” he commands, and Claire obeys. Talia pulls Heather, who has gone numb with fear and shock, and the two girls are marched to a bulkhead behind the cabin. Without warning, Claire is shoved down the steps, but she manages to catch herself before she ends up splayed at the bottom of the concrete steps. She turns and manages to half-catch Heather from also falling. 

“Kyle! If you’re in there, fight it!” Claire calls up the stairs, but the bulkhead slams shut, leaving her and Heather dingy darkness.

It takes a moment for their eyes to adjust, but eventually they can make out a dusty and unused looking cellar, mostly empty except some old cardboard boxes that look moldy enough to disintegrate on touch and a few pieces of old furniture. The only light is from the cracks in the plywood in the boarded up transom windows, which would be too small for either of them to fit through. A bare bulb sits in the center of the ceiling, and Claire crosses the room, Heather still clutching her shirt, and she yanks hopefully on the metal chain dangling from the light. The dim light does little but cast a sickly glow over the room, but it’s better than nothing.

“What the hell is going on, Claire?” Heather chokes out in a whisper. “That woman’s eyes and Kyle and where are we and why do they seem to know who you are and…”

“Shh, shh, Heather, you gotta calm down, ok?” Claire says as soothingly as possible, grasping her friend by the shoulders. “Look, my…dads…know and they’re coming, ok? They’ll know what to do.” But there’s something that Corbman said that’s itching in the back of her mind…. “Leverage,” he’d said. _Shit, it’s a trap. Dean and Cas are gonna walk right into it._

“What do you mean they know and they’re coming?”

Claire sighs. “I saw Kyle’s eyes turn black when we were in the car, so I texted Cas and Dean so they could come rescue us.” A thought occurs to her and she pulls out her phone. No cell service, no new messages. _Dammit._

“Kyle’s eyes turned black? What the hell does that mean? What’s wrong with him?”

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Claire says, and she runs up the stairs to the bulkhead, throwing her weight against it. It doesn’t budge, and she does not look forward to the bruise that will appear on her throbbing shoulder. She hadn’t expected it to work, but it was worth a shot. Heather is still standing helplessly in the middle of the room while Claire surveys it all looking for a way out. None present themselves. She drops her hands to her sides and returns to her friend. _This is gonna be a fun conversation…_

“Heather, I’m going to tell you some things that you’re not going to want to believe, but you have to trust me that it’s all real, ok?” Claire looks right into her friends eyes and doesn’t speak another word until Heather nods solemnly. Claire takes a deep breath. “So. Demons, monsters, angels, creatures…you name it…they’re all real. There’s a demon possessing Kyle and another possessing that woman—that’s why their eyes flick black.”

“No, no. That can’t be. What the freaking hell are you talking about, Claire?” Heather blurts, and Claire wishes she had time or energy to be sympathetic to her friend’s completely understandable reaction.

“Heather! I told you! You have to believe me! We don’t have _time_ for you not to.” Claire turns a bit, lifts her hair off the back of her neck with one hand and yanks down the collar of her shirt, exposing her tattoo. “See that? That’s an anti-possession tattoo. Dean made me get it because he’s a hunter; Dean and Cas and Dean’s brother Sam fight these things all the time. That’s their job.”

She turns back to Heather who is looking at her blankly. Her friend’s brain finally latches on to something Claire has said that she can process, and so she asks the one question that is completely irrelevant to the entire situation.

“Wait, you have two dads? You never said.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and that’s a long story, too. They’re not really my dads, not in the usual sense, but they might as well be now. Trust me, the fact that I have two dads is the most normal part of my life. But that’s not the point. They’re hunters, and they’re coming, and we just gotta make sure we get out of here safe, all right?”

“What about Kyle?”

“They’ll save him, too,” Claire assures Heather. In a flash of inspiration, Claire digs into her coat pocket and is rewarded with the pen she had used only a few hours ago to scribble her homework on the back of her hand. “C’mere, lift up your sleeve.”

“Why?” Heather is looking at the pen Claire is offering her dubiously.

“Look, you wanna end up like Kyle? I’m going show you my tattoo again and you’re going to copy it as best you can onto your arm under your sleeve where they can’t see it. You do _not_ want to be possessed, believe me.”

Heather’s eyes widen, and Claire is somewhat relieved by the implication that this means her friend is starting to believe in all of this.

“Have you…have you been possessed?” Apparently, it’s possible for those dark eyes to widen even more, and Claire looks away from the stare. This is not something she ever wanted to tell her friends; a part of her always knew she’d been naïve to think it, but she’d hoped she might have found some sort of normal life outside the bunker.

“Um, yeah, a long time ago. But not by a demon. An angel,” Claire mumbles. “I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s…complicated.”

Heather nods out of habit, but she takes the pen still in Claire’s outstretched hand. Claire turns and shows Heather the tattoo again.

“I suck at drawing,” Heather groans. Claire can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the complaint, all things considered.

“Heather?”

“Yeah?”

“Trust me, Dean and Cas and Sam—they’re the best at this. They really are. They’ve saved the world—literally—a bunch of times. A couple of stupid demons is like a walk in the park for them. We’re going to be ok.”

“Ok, Claire. I trust you,” Heather says, and although Claire knows there is still some doubt in her friend’s voice, she’s glad for the vote of confidence, however small.


	3. Search and Rescue

Cas might not be able to sense Dean’s thoughts like he could when he was an angel, and he may still be a long way from being good at reading human emotions, but the hunter is like an open book as he steps on the gas of the Impala, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

The ex-angel is no less worried about Claire than Dean is, but Castiel has known the elder Winchester long enough to know that when Dean gets like this—when someone he loves and needs to protect is in danger—he often becomes irrational. Dean Winchester is a good man, and he has come a long way from the brashness and insecurities he had when Castiel first met him, but Cas knows there still lies in the hunter the propensity to do something incredibly stupid and self-sacrificing if it means saving family.

Castiel refuses to risk either Claire or Dean for the other.

“Dean.”

The hunter’s jaw clenches as though he knows—and he probably does—what the former angel is going to say. “What, Cas? I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightens for a moment, then relaxes a hairsbreadth. “Yeah, you’re right. Claire’s been taken by fucking demons. Of course I’m not fucking fine,” he growls angrily.

“Dean, I just…” He stops, unwillingly to anger Dean any further. Cas looks out the window, his heart heavy, his hand clenched on the seat beside him. While Cas doesn’t regret his decision to fall, he hates these times when he feels so powerless, so useless. It’s a constant war within him: Cas has come to believe that he was never truly cut out to be a good angel, but he will never be completely human like those born to it—he is a being always on the outside of two species. Most days, he consoles himself with the warmth and love of the family he has found as a human. Today, he grieves for his lost power. He wants Claire home and safe, and he wishes he had the ability to make that happen in an instant.

He can feel Dean’s gaze bore into him, but he isn’t ready to face those green eyes, not when he isn’t sure his own blue ones won’t brim with tears at any moment. A hand covers his own, and they lace their fingers.

“You ok?” Dean asks finally.

“No,” Cas admits. “But Claire is smart and resourceful. She can ‘hold her own.’”

Dean grins like he always does when Castiel emphasizes certain phrases; Castiel still isn’t quite sure what the joke is, but it pleases him anytime Dean is amused, even if it is at his own expense.

“Yeah, she’s fucking tough. She’ll be ok,” the hunter agrees, clearly trying to reassure himself as well as Cas. Dean jerks his hand out of Cas’ grip suddenly, and Cas is startled until he sees Dean reach into pocket and dig out his phone. The hunter tosses it over to Cas. “What’s it say?”

Cas thumbs open the new text message, his stomach swooping with relief when he sees who sent it: “It’s from Claire. ‘Dirt road off main road dunno where we are’ is all it says.”

“Call Sam. See if he can check the maps, help us pinpoint that more,” Dean instructs unnecessarily as Cas is already dialing the younger Winchester.

“Dean?” Sam answers.

“No, it’s Cas. We have a text from Claire. She says they took a dirt road off of the main road, but there were no other details,” Cas says closing his eyes as he runs a hand over his face in distress.

“Ok, it’s not much to go on, but I’m texting you the coordinates of her GPS. It’s up near the Nebraska border. Looks like it’s in the middle of nowhere, but I don’t know where this dirt road comes out yet,” Sam says and Cas can hear the concern hidden under the determination in the younger brother’s voice. “I’ll check the maps and keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Sam,” the former angel replies and hangs up.

Almost instantly the device in his hand buzzes with the coordinates Sam sent. Cas pulls up Dean’s map app and copies the coordinates in carefully; he may not be as quick with technology as the rest of them, but he is learning. He hands the phone to Dean once the map loads. Dean takes the phone, eyes flicking back and forth between the map and the road. Apparently, they are already heading in the right direction because Dean continues on in the same direction, though Castiel is momentarily pressed into the back of the seat as Dean floors the accelerator.

On any other day, Cas might have made a snarky comment about the irony of the great Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, dying in something as common as a car accident, but today he is silently cheering the Impala on and simultaneously lamenting his lost wings.

“You text her back?” Dean asks impatiently, but Cas knows the frustration isn’t really aimed at him personally.

“No, but I will.” He digs out his own phone, now that he has returned Dean’s, and slowly taps out a message: **Dean and I are on our way and will be there soon. Please be safe and don’t worry. If you can, send us any information that might help.** He pauses, unsure how to end the text. Finally, he settles on the only non-terrifying thing that is true right now, musing that once again, in classic Winchester style, that nothing short of a crisis will allow any of them to express their true feelings. **We love you.** He thumbs the send button.

“What’d you tell her?” The hunter asks, taking his eyes off the road again to look squarely at Cas.

“We’re coming for her and she should text us if she can. I told her to be safe and not to worry,” Cas adds.

For the moment, he leaves off his final words to Claire, knowing how poorly Dean often reacts to words like “love”, even if they are true. In truth, Dean has only used that word once with Cas; Dean has other ways of saying "love" without actually saying it (a fact Cas has become far more comfortable with since watching _The Empire Strikes Back_ and _The Princess Bride_ as part of his mandatory pop culture education; Metatron's download, Cas has learned, is hardly the same as experiencing the films themselves).

The former angel has no doubt of the hunter’s love for their pseudo-daughter; in fact, Castiel is slightly ashamed to admit he is sometimes jealous of their relationship. Despite their horrible past before Claire arrived at the bunker, Dean and Claire have an easy familiarity that Castiel can never duplicate. Castiel suspects that Claire would have been very different had she been raised by Jimmy and Amelia, but the Claire they have now has a tough exterior and a sharp sense of humor that masks a warm and loving heart. There are days that Castiel thinks that if Dean had a biological daughter of his own, she’d probably be like Claire.

His own relationship with Claire is very different. He knows that a part of her will never be able to separate him from her real father and everything he took from her. Cas admires Claire’s resilience and independence, but his favorite thing about her is how she cares. That’s where they connect, especially when Claire has the opportunity to point out a way in which he is acting like a “doof”. Cas doesn’t mind if it means she lets him take care of her, too. And really, that’s just another way she and Dean are similar: they often show their love and concern through actions, not words; Cas learned a long time ago how to respond in kind.

So for now, he doesn’t want to burden or “freak out”—as Dean, and Claire, would say—the hunter with a verbal admission of love. Better to let Dean come to this realization in his own time. Better to focus on getting Claire back home safe.

“I told her about the same before we left,” Dean comments on Cas’ text. The hunter suddenly laughs harshly. “I feel like Liam fucking Neeson right now.”

“Who is—” Cas begins, even though he knows it must be some film reference he is unfamiliar with; Metatron's download was extensive, but not all-inclusive.

“Don’t worry about it, but I guess we got another movie for your watch list,” Dean says drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. “She say who she was hanging out with tonight?”

“Two of her friends, I believe. Heather and…Kevin? Kyle?” Cas grimaces and feels guilty that he cannot remember the friend’s name and that they have never met Claire’s friends. The bunker may be a good home for hunters, but it would be difficult to explain to civilians, and so all of Claire’s socializing has occurred elsewhere. Not having a childhood himself, Cas had never given it much thought, but now he sees how it might be lonely and isolating for the girl. He sighs. “We don’t even know her friends.”

“I know,” Dean grumbles, and Cas knows he is feeling the same guilt. “What the fuck are we doing, man? We shoulda known this was gonna end bad. We fucked up this kid’s life enough back when she was twelve, and what? we thought we’d fix it all by having her live in the Batcave with an ex-Knight of Hell, an ex-demon blood addict, and a fallen angel? Slap a tattoo on her and call it a day?” The tirade bursts out of Dean, and he runs a hand through his hair. “This is all our fucking fault. You know it’s probably a trap, right?”

“Yes, I had suspected as much,” Cas agrees grimly. “But I still believe we are doing more good for Claire than if she were still on her own. Even if you don’t see it.”

“Hmph, right,” Dean snorts dismissively. Castiel's nerves are too raw to handle this and he lets out a tirade of his own.

“Dean, I don’t care how stressed you are; you are not having a fucking self-esteem crisis right now. We are Claire’s family and our family is _good_. Our lives are difficult and dangerous, but that’s just how it is. I only have so much energy to worry at the moment and I cannot—and won’t—spare it on you.” It’s been a long time since Cas has become this blunt and angry at Dean, even though he isn’t really angry with him, just emotionally frayed. His words hang in the air.

“Fuck,” the hunter breathes quietly. Inwardly, Cas smirks bitterly: only Dean Winchester could make the word “fuck” sound apologetic. “Sorry, man. You shouldn’t have to deal with my shit, too. I’m just…fucking worried about her, you know? I’ve fucked up enough stuff in my life; I dunno if I could deal with fucking this up, too.”

“I know, Dean,” Cas says softly. “But you get more right than not, and you know that.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says unconvinced, but he finally stows the doubt and lets out some of the usual Dean bravado. “Coupla demons, right? No problem. Can’t be any worse than anything else we’ve seen.”

“Exactly,” Cas agrees, suppressing his own fears.

Dean looks over at Cas, a playful smile on his lips. “You know you’re cute when you’re angry,” Dean smirks.

“Fuck you,” Cas replies, but the corners of his mouth twitch up. Dean laughs. Without a word, they both reach out across the benchseat and grasp each other’s hand as the Impala flies down the darkening road.


	4. It's a Long Story

Claire can’t sit still. It doesn’t matter that she has searched every inch of the basement, examined the bulkhead and windows twice for any weaknesses or ways to escape; sitting still just seems like giving up. She is back at the bulkhead, trying to peer through the dim light at the edges where she knows the hinges are outside, when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket.

Anxiously she pulls it out and finds a new text message and a flickering bar of cell service.

“Yes!” she cries in relief; maybe they aren’t as cut off as she thought.

“What is it?” Heather calls from below.

“It’s a text from Castiel!” she says as she swipes open the lockscreen to the message. She has to read through the message twice: **Dean and I are on our way and will be there soon. Please be safe and don’t worry. If you can, send us any information that might help.** **We love you.**

_We love you._

“What’s it say?” Heather asks, coming up the stairs. “Claire?”

“Oh, um, that they’re coming and to be safe,” she mumbles.

Heather looks at her quizzically. “Ok,” she says, drawing out the word in disbelief. “What’s wrong?” Heather looks over Claire’s shoulder at the text before Claire can pull it away.

“Nothing,” she says belatedly.

“I don’t get it. Sounds like good news, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Just took me by surprise.”

“What did? Claire, what the hell? With everything that’s going on, why are you freaking out about this text? If there’s something wrong, I deserve to know! I’m in danger here, too!”

“What? No! You’re not in danger…well…you are, but not because of the text. It’s personal.” Claire looks at her friend whose fear has been replaced with indignant anger. She grimaces and realizes Heather isn’t backing down without the truth. “Ok, so you know how I said Dean and Cas aren’t really my dads but it’s a long freaking story?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, I’ve only been living with them for a few months. And…there was a lot of bad stuff that happened before that. So that’s the first time I’ve heard anyone say they…I haven’t had anyone care…in a really long time,” Claire finishes miserably. “I know it’s stupid and lame, but…”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Heather assures her, and Claire hates and loves the look of sympathy on her friend’s face. “Look, we all bitch about our parents, but right now? I’d be freaking thrilled if my mom was on her way here. Hey, you got cell service up here…” Heather starts to pull out her own phone, but Claire grabs her wrist.

“No, don’t call your parents. Or the police. Trust me, we gotta let Cas and Dean handle this. Anyone else’d just get hurt.” Claire clenches her jaw as the memory of her mother’s possession rises up in her mind’s eye. _No, that won’t happen again._

“But…”

“Look, demons and angels ruined my real family. I don’t even know where my mom is anymore. My real dad is…dead. You can’t bring your parents into this. Dean and Cas have been doing this for years, and they’re what the demons want anyway.” Claire lets go of Heather’s wrist, but the other girl still isn’t convinced.

“So shouldn’t they have backup? Like the _police_? They’re walking into a trap. What if they can’t get us out?”

Claire chuckles darkly. “Remember like five years ago when the weather was all screwed up and there were cities and towns that were going crazy?”

“Yeah…like the earthquake in Boston...?"

“Yeah, and you know how everyone said it was the end of the world?”

“Uh huh…”

“Well, they were right. It was the Apocalypse. Like the actual Biblical Apocalypse. And Dean and Cas and Sam stopped it. They beat Lucifer.”

“Lucifer? Like…”

“Yeah, like Satan. The Devil.”

“Right.” Heather is looking at Claire like she’s gone insane. Apparently they have once again crossed the line for what she can believe and what she can’t.

“Fine, believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care,” Claire huffs. She opens her phone and begins replying to Castiel, hoping she’ll have enough service to send the text.

“Awesome. So you get to text your…parents or whoever they are…and I don’t.”

“Yeah, well when your dads are a hunter-slash-ex-demon and a fallen Angel of the Lord turned hunter then you can text them for a rescue all you freaking want,” Claire mutters without really thinking.

“They’re _what?_ ”

Claire freezes mid-text.

“Nothing.”

“An _ex-demon?_ What the hell does that even mean? And a _fallen angel?_ ”

“I told you: long story. Also told you: the fact that I have two dads is the most normal part of my life.”

Heather stalks back down the stairs. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. This is all too freaking weird.”

Claire goes down to her friend; the text message can wait. “Heather, I know this is a lot to deal with, and honestly you’re keeping it together better than most people. But you can’t freak out on me, ok? If Talia and Corbman come back before Dean and Cas show up or before we can get the hell out of here, you gotta stay focused. Forget about all that crap I said about Dean and Cas and the Apocalypse and whatever else is too much to deal with, ok? Just focus on getting out or getting away from Corbman and Talia. And rescuing Kyle.”

Heather nods, and Claire hugs her friend.

“How do we save Kyle?” The hug and speech must have worked a bit because there is a hint of resolve in Heather’s voice.

“Exorcism,” Claire replies and wishes she knew the chant by heart.

“Like pea soup and revolving heads?”

“Not exactly. Latin and black smoke,” Claire replies. “Heather, I gotta text them back. You ok for a minute?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Claire bounds up the stairs and resumes her message, thankful she doesn’t have to hide her phone this time. **Cabin basement w/ Heather. Kyle possessed, demon is Corbman. Other demon is Talia. Haven’t seen or heard any others. Can u text the exorcism?** Claire doesn't know if knowing the demons' names will be at all helpful to Dean and Cas, but better safe than sorry. She pauses before finishing the text, unaware that Cas had done the same only minutes before. **Love u too.** She holds the phone out towards the bulkhead looking for the elusive bar she needs to send the text. Finally, she finds it and presses send. She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.


	5. The Cavalry Approaches

If anyone had told Dean a year ago that he’d be pushing Baby to her limits to rescue his kinda-adopted _daughter_ Claire Novak while fucking _holding hands_ with _Cas_ , he’d have laughed—or beaten the shit out of them; last year had been a rough one, what with the Mark and all. But right now, even this little bit of introspection is far from Dean’s mind as his eyes rove the scenery looking for the dirt road Claire mentioned. Sam had had no luck with the maps—the satellite images hadn’t been detailed enough—but they know they’re close. All Dean can think about is getting Claire back.

Finally a dirt road appears on the left with two sets of muddy tire tracks turning off the main road. Dean swings the Impala onto the path without warning and Cas instinctively clutches the door for balance.

“How far off the road is the cabin?” he asks, once again tossing his phone with the map back to the former angel so he can concentrate on navigating the bumpy road.

“Looks to be about a mile or so. It is difficult to tell on this.” Cas scowls at the small screen illuminating his face.

“We’ll park up ahead and walk the rest so we don’t give ourselves away.” Dean hears his phone vibrate and Cas’ echo from a coat pocket. “Claire?”

“Yes, she says there are two demons, one is possessing her friend Kyle. She and Heather are in a cabin basement. She also wants us to text her the Latin exorcism.”

“That’s my girl,” Dean mutters without really thinking about it; if he hadn’t been concentrating on a particularly rough patch of the road, he might have seen Cas’ head perk up at that. “Got enough service to send her the voice recording?”

“I don’t think so. It’s been on and off for the last few minutes. I’ll have to just text it and hope it goes through.”

“Type it phonetically. I dunno how good her Latin is.”

“Can’t be any worse than yours,” Cas replies dryly.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Dean grumbles, though without any bite. _Man, we’ve done some pretty bad shit—Apocalypse, not closing the Gates of Hell—and teaching Cas sarcasm’s gotta rank up there…_ He spares a glance from the road over to his angel and feels a bit of relief over the whole situation to see Cas carefully tap out the exorcism. _Even if she doesn’t get it…at least she’s ok enough to text and she’s thinking straight. I mean, if they wanted her…_ he can’t bring himself to finish that train of thought, so he tries to focus on the road again. Naturally, Dean’s brain refuses to be distracted and just continues to run through the possibilities of what they’ve gotten themselves into.

If they really didn’t want them to find her, they would have taken her phone. Claire is bait for whatever nasty endgame they have planned.

_But whose endgame?_

The only demon they have a standing grudge against is also the only demon they keep an uneasy truce with. _Unless he’s finally done crying over me ending the bromance and giving the First Blade to Cas and has decided to man up and fuck us over…_

Could Crowley be that petty?

Yes, Dean knows. But something about that doesn’t track. Why now, months after the fact? Not to mention, they're the Batman to Crowley’s Joker: they never _actually_ killed each other because both sides have decided to pull a _Godfather_ and keep close tabs on the other. So why would Crowley change the playbook now when they’ve done so much worse to each other over the years? He wouldn’t, unless he wants something. But what?

“Dean? What’re you thinking?”

“Trying to figure out what these sons-of-bitches want. Think it’s Crowley?”

“I thought that at first, but we’ve worked with him before and I can’t imagine what he would hope to gain by this. Not to mention, this is not exactly his ‘style.’”

Dean grimaces. “It was with Ben and Lisa.”

“That was…” Cas looks away and Dean instantly regrets opening the old wound: Dean’s pain at what he lost and Cas’ guilt over the deal that pushed Crowley to make that move.

“And why would Crowley do this now?” Dean asks, hoping to redirect the conversation.

“Exactly,” Cas says, obviously grateful for the out. “I think there is another player we haven’t considered.”

The Impala jostles over the ruts and bumps, and Dean soothingly runs a hand over the dashboard after a particularly bad jolt. Tomorrow, he’ll have to give Baby some care—she’s a great car, but she’s not built for off-roading.

Thinking about the car calms Dean and lets him refocus on the task at hand. Cas was right earlier—he can’t freak out right now or get wrapped up in painful memories, and he had been a jackass for piling that all on Cas to deal with, too.

Hey, no one ever said Dean Winchester was good at dealing with feelings.

The road widens and Dean pulls the car off to the side. The woods are dark in the twilight and it takes his eyes a second to adjust without the Impala’s headlights. He and Cas slide out of the car and move without speaking to the trunk where they arm themselves with holy water, salt, guns, the demon knife, Cas’ angel blade…the usual.

Dean slams the trunk closed, his jar clenched and tight. He looks at Cas, his eyes dark and wide. Cas grips his hand for a moment, and Dean nods. Cas lets go and they make their way up the road to their Claire.


	6. The Witch is Back

Claire shivers and zips up her jacket. The cellar isn’t particularly cold, but it is dank and the shadows are deepening, and the feeble light from the chinks in the boarded up windows is fading.

She gets up from where she and Heather are sitting with their backs pressed against a wall and heads up to the bulkhead. After a moment, her phone finds the weak signal and she is rewarded with a series of texts from Cas.

“Got the exorcism!” she calls down to Heather. The other girl scrambles up and joins her on the steps.

“What’s it mean?” Heather asks, peering over Claire’s shoulder.

“No idea—something churchy and ex-demony. That’s all that matters.”

“And we just say it and the demon disappears?”

“Um, kinda. Black smoke comes out of their mouths. It’s kinda terrifying, won’t lie,” Claire admits. “Roll up your sleeve—wanna make sure it’s not smudged.”

Heather complies and Claire is relieved to see the crudely drawn anti-possession sigil seems to be still intact.

“You sure this’ll work?” Heather’s lips purse, clearly trying to keep calm, but her eyes betray her fear.

“Hope so. I think Cas wrote it out how it’s supposed to sound. Now we just gotta wait for one of them to show up.”

“Claire?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do they want Dean and Cas? What do they want?”

Claire considers. “Dunno. If I had to guess, we’re bait because someone has a grudge against them.”

“Why drag them out here? Why not just ambush them or something?”

Claire laughs. “Because where we live is probably the safest place in the whole world; it’s got so many wards it makes these tattoos look like a freakin’ joke. Not to mention it’d be like poking a sleeping bear. You do _not_ want to fight the Winchesters on their home turf.”

“I guess that—” Heather stops as the bulkhead opens, bright flashlights blinding them and hands grabbing them and forcing them back down the stairs.

Talia pins Claire’s hands behind her back and takes her phone. _Crap—the exorcism!_ Corbman has grabbed Heather, and her friend looks repulsed at the sight of Kyle’s body acting this way.

Claire’s eyes quickly readjust from their momentary blindness and she sees a red-headed woman in a long, form-fitting black dress approach. Talia hands over the phone and the woman smiles, her heavily makeup-ed eyes twinkling devilishly despite the gloom of the cellar.

“Well,” she gasps brightly in a broad accent that Claire is pretty sure is Scottish, “what have you been telling our dear Winchesters?” The woman waves a hand over the phone and the screen lights up, despite being password protected. “Never much cared for these devices, but a girl must adapt, isn’t that right?”

Claire just scowls and the woman chuckles.

“Oh my, an exorcism? You are a smart one,” the woman says, flashing a cat-like grin. “What a shame I’m so _terrible_ with this new technology and it’s just—oh!—gone! And what else? Ah, the Winchesters and their pet angel are coming, good…oh, and they _love_ you. How precious,” she trills and Claire can feel her face turn red at the taunt.

“Let us go! We don’t—” Heather bursts out, but the woman just raises a finger and, with a small flash of purple light from Heather’s mouth, the girl falls silent. She works her mouth uselessly, and the horror of being magically struck mute distorts her features.

“Now that’s better, darling. One less brat to deal with,” the woman sighs happily. With her eyes narrowed playfully and that devious smirk on her lips, the woman—who Claire can only assume is another demon, or more likely a witch—strides over to Claire and peers into her eyes. A pale finger and long painted nail runs over Claire’s cheek and jaw; Claire recoils from the touch and the closeness. The woman smells of spices and manipulation. “You are a pretty one and a good soul, too. No wonder they’ve come so fast—they think they have caught us unawares by coming on foot, the poor dears.”

She laughs and Claire swears that if this woman so much as chuckles one more time she’s going kill her just on principle.

“I dunno who you are, but if you really think Dean and Cas can’t take some skank in drag queen makeup—”

And of course, the woman bubbles with laughter at that, seeming genuinely amused, and Claire just wants to punch her. “You really are a Winchester now, aren’t you? Even better. What a parent will do for their child…” she trails off slyly as though keeping a joke to herself.

 _Who is this bitch? _Claire supposes she should be worried that Dean and Cas’s approach has already been noticed, but she figures they realized it was a trap from the get-go, and so all she wants is them to show up and take this witch out.

She looks over at Heather and tries to reassure her, but her friend seems to have gone into shock and is staring blankly at the woman. A light glows from a bead in the bracelet on the witch’s wrist, and the woman’s smile broadens.

“It seems our guests are almost here. Talia, bring the Winchester girl.”

Talia tightens her grip on Claire’s arms, wrenching them until Claire painfully wonders if dislocating her shoulders is next on the demon’s to-do list.

“And this one, Rowena?” Corman asks.

Rowena considers for a moment, sizing up Heather. “I was going to just kill her, but I think we might have some use for her yet. Leave her here for now.”

“What? No! Heather, don’t worry, ok! We’ll get you out of her, I promise!” Claire calls as Talia drags her out of the cellar.


	7. Bloody Hell

Sometimes, he feels like the Oprah of Hell— _and there’s a contract I cannot wait to make good on_ —"You get torture! You get torture! Everybody gets torture!" Another bloody day at the office and all that, and fuck does he need a drink. Tumbler of Craig in hand, Crowley considers for a moment that today’s business wrapped up far quicker than it has in days. _No fucking interruptions from Mommy Dearest for a bloody change..._

He supposes he should probably check on the bitch—witch ( _same thing_ )—and saunters down to Rowena’s quarters, strolling in without bothering to knock, and with a barb of condescension on the tip of his tongue.

But the barb goes to waste— _shame, really: it was a good one_ —as the chamber is empty. Not entirely surprising: his lair is a large place, thank all that is evil, because if he had to be in close quarters with half of these deplorable lowlifes—including his mother—he really would lose his mind. Hell truly is other people…or demons.

Another thought occurs to him as he takes a sip and contemplates the room before wandering back out to the hallway: today isn’t the first day Rowena has been absent from court. _What the hell is she up to?_ Because no good could possibly come from Rowena being on the loose.

One of his lackeys rounds the corner, clearly on his way to Rowena’s room, but freezes when he sees Crowley. _Seriously, what kind of demon can’t hold a lie off of his face for more than two seconds?_ Honestly, the King demon isn’t sure if he should be glad that the traitorous degenerates he has in his employ are complete morons and therefore easy to suss out, or be disappointed in their obvious failings as evil minions.

 _Aaand this is why I am King_ , he sighs inwardly before snapping at the lower demon. “You,” he calls dismissively. The demon stays rooted where he is. “Now I’m going to pretend that you are standing here because you are in awe of my presence, not because I caught you squirreling away to plan some heinous subterfuge with my mother. I’m frankly all tortured out today, see—something I never thought I’d say, but there you have it. In return, you are going to tell me what exactly my dear sweet mother is up to and where she is.”

The demon stutters, “I—I—I—don’t…”

“Well, perhaps I can work overtime, just this once…I’ve been really into the torture classics these days…I wonder which one I should dredge up next…”

“Winchesters!” the demon blurts. Crowley tilts his head minutely, his eyebrows raised.

“Do tell.”

“She’s taken that girl they have—the one who had the angel Grace or whatever.”

“The vessel’s daughter?” News travels fast in the supernatural world, and it was only days after the angel’s fall that Crowley had caught wind of how his former partner in crime had lost the Mark of Cain.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And what, pray tell, would be the purpose of taking the girl?” Crowley asks, although he is fairly sure he knows the answer.

“Bait. To kill the Winchesters and the former angel, Castiel.”

“Thank you. Now,” he says, summoning two of his more trusted demons, “back to the torture we were discussing earlier…”

“But, but, you said…!”

“No, actually, I didn’t. I said I was going to pretend. I’m done pretending.” Crowley casually takes another drink from his scotch, then walks away as the young demon is dragged off.

As soon as the traitor and Crowley’s men are out of sight, he takes his phone out of his pocket, debating which plaid nightmare to call. He guesses that Squirrel will probably just ignore him or threaten him with violence he won’t follow through on and assault his ears with B-grade insults— _had my fill of those, thank you very much_ —and so he decides on the slightly more reasonable but oh-so obnoxiously righteous Gigantor younger brother.

“Moose,” he greets the hunter cheerfully.

“What the hell do you want, Crowley?”

“Really, where’s the love? I kept the Blade for you boys, now I call you with insider information…”

“Crowley, get to the point or I’m hanging up.”

“Touchy, touchy. Then again, if I were in your clodhopper shoes, I probably would be, too, knowing that the littlest Winchester is being held as bait by a centuries-old witch.” Crowley can picture the look of consternation on the Moose’s face and smirks.

“How do you know this Crowley? And what do you want?”

“Let’s just say I have a close source. And let’s just say that I don’t want anything—just don’t kill her.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Call it a personal favor to your favorite King of Hell. In any case, you’ve met her before, I believe: Rowena.”

“Shit…”

“I thought you might think so. I suggest you call your illustrious brother and his fuckbuddy angel—”

“Aw, Crowley, you sound jealous.”

“—and let them know the score, and then call me when you want me to take Rowena off your hands, love.” He hangs up before Moose can reply, then sighs when he realizes his tumbler is empty. The King of Hell makes his way back to his room for another drink. _Bloody hell, it’s going to be a long night._


	8. Backup

Sam hangs up the phone with Crowley, taking his eyes off the road only to scroll through to Dean’s number. As soon as he had finished his search on the laptop, he had taken off in the truck he had acquired the month previously; it's nothing special—a twenty year-old Ford F150—but he and Dean had put some work into it and now it runs well. Ultimately, Sam thinks he would like to downsize, but while he’s still hunting, the truck is more practical (except in gas, but Sam figures he might as well keep up the Winchester tradition of not being fuel efficient).

“This is Dean’s other, other cell, so you must know what to do.” Sam grimaces when he hears the voicemail message, then tries Cas; “I don’t understand why…why do you want me to say my name?”

 _Dammit._ He decides against the voicemail and opts for texting his brother and…brother-in-law?— _friend, we’ll stick with friend_ —and a snide voice in the back of his head reminds him that he’d probably be bitching at Dean for texting and driving and nearly getting them killed if his brother were in his place. But, screw it: Claire’s in danger, and Dean and Cas need to know who they’re up against.

**Rowena in charge of demons. Crowley says don’t kill her...favor for the info.**

Short and to the point. He just hopes they get it in time.

The last part of his text is the part that’s niggling at him. _Why the fuck does Crowley care whether Rowena lives or dies? And more importantly: why the hell is he helping us out of the blue?_

He wonders if it has something to do with Dean’s demon time as Crowley’s best bud, but Sam thought that bridge had been burned when Dean had handed the First Blade to Castiel instead. Sam had been pretty focused on his broken brother that night, but even he had noticed how Crowley looked like a jilted lover— _fuck that is not something I want to think about_.

The memory of Crowley in the church, wailing that he deserved to be loved, creeps up into Sam’s mind’s eye. It’s true, Crowley is hardly the most terrifying player on the board anymore, but Sam has no intentions of underestimating him. The guy—demon—is incredibly manipulative, although he does operate under his own evil moral code: make a deal, keep the deal.

And so the question remains: _What does Crowley want? What is he getting out of this?_

It can’t just be a soft spot for the Winchesters. And as far as Sam knows, Crowley doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Claire.

_It has to be Rowena. Something about the witch…_

Suddenly he remembers a moment from that night in the barn with Cain:

“18th century magic,” Cain had said of the illusion spell.

“Good eye. Something I picked up from my mother,” Crowley had replied.

_His…mother?_

Could it be? Sam supposes it’s not beyond the realm of possibility, and despite all of the stress of this night’s crisis, he lets out a bark of laughter.

_The fucking King of Hell is worried about his MOM._

Sometimes Sam just doesn’t know what to make of his life and the world he lives in.

_So, then what does Rowena want? Why does she want to kill Dean and Cas…and me, presumably? If Crowley’s pro-Team Free Will, then what’s mommy’s play here?_

Unable to come up with a satisfying explanation, Sam decides he really isn’t all that interested in another family’s drama. The King of Hell and his witch of a mother can have their soap opera some other time.

Sam was only in the bunker another ten or fifteen minutes before he was able to follow Dean and Castiel, and he hopes he gets there in time to provide backup. The truck is speeding along at an almost reckless clip, and Sam knows that if this is how fast he’s driving, then it’ll be a miracle if Dean makes it there without getting the Impala wrapped around a tree. 

He wishes he had some indication of how Claire is doing; he knows from the last time he spoke with Cas that they had received word that she was in the basement of a cabin, but right now, that distant message isn’t enough.

Sam is frustrated and upset on Claire’s behalf—not just about the kidnapping (which is traumatic and awful enough)—but because he understands how badly Claire wants a normal life, and this sure as shit isn’t normal. Hell, just last week, they’d been talking about Claire maybe taking some classes at the community college after she graduates; she knows she doesn’t have the grades for a four year school right away, but she figures she could get some of the gen ed classes done and hopefully narrow down a major in the process. Sam had been more than happy to talk college with her, and it had sparked his own desire to get back into his academics.

But no matter how much Sam had loved being able to give some advice on the subject, it was _nothing_ compared to the look of pride that had been on Dean’s face when his older brother had walked into the kitchen halfway through the conversation. Sam thinks of Claire like a kid sister (and in truth, he really likes _not_ being the younger one for a change), but honestly, the best part of Claire is how happy she makes his brother. And God knows how miserable the jerk has been over the years. Seeing Dean and Castiel content together and form a little family with Claire is possibly the best gift Sam has ever been given.

And fuck if Rowena is going to take that from him.

Sam pushes the gas pedal down to the floor.


	9. Divide and Conquer

Castiel knows that the hunting community, and really, the supernatural community (if one were to call it that) at large, considers Dean to be the type to shoot first and ask questions later. It’s a reputation he has earned (somewhat unfairly: Dean often undersells himself in many areas), but the former angel is relieved that the hunter is fighting his instincts to just barrel into the cabin guns blazing and has instead decided to observe for a few minutes to get the lay of the land and their enemy.

They are approaching the house, the night falling fast and thick around them as they move through the woods. Cas pauses for a moment as he feels something, like a quick breath of air, and there is a faint smell of herbs. _Some sort of detection spell,_ he thinks and is about to tell Dean when both of them feel their pockets buzz and they get Sam’s text.

“Fucking witches,” Dean whispers.

“How does Crowley factor into this?” Cas wonders.

“Don’t know, don’t care. I also don’t care all that much about doing him a favor. That bitch hurts Claire or her friends, she dies. That’s what we do.” Dean’s low voice brooks no argument, not that Cas has any intention of disagreeing. Distantly, they hear the low rumble of a vehicle, but it is silenced quickly.

“Sam or more of the demon entourage?” Dean wonders and Castiel shrugs. Silently, they move further into the shadows and into a defensive position, just in case. A few minutes later, Cas sees a familiar tall figure stalk up the path, and Dean calls out softly, “Sam, it’s us.”

Sam still whips a gun in their direction, but lowers it once he identifies them. The younger Winchester breathes out quickly. “Good, glad I caught up with you. Claire?”

“Still in the cabin as far as we know,” Cas replies and Sam nods.

“Yeah, and we just got your text—cell service up here sucks. Fucking Rowena? And what the hell is Crowley doing calling us about her?”

“I have a theory: she’s his mother,” Sam smirks.

“You’re shitting me. Godfuckingdamn,” Dean says, exasperated. “Whatever. We’re getting Claire and her friends.”

“One of them is possessed,” Castiel informs Sam. “Kyle, I believe is his name. The other friend, Heather, doesn’t seem to be affected, although that could have changed since we last heard from her.”

“Any other nasties?” Sam asks.

“She said there were only two demons—and now Rowena, I guess. Dunno if the witch has others around somewhere,” Dean answers.

“I’m also fairly certain she knows we’re here: I think I detected a perimeter spell not long ago.”

“Shit, man, why didn’t you say anything?” Dean practically shouts, although his voice is still in a low whisper.

“I was about to when we heard the phones,” Cas replies defensively.

“Hey, guys, bitch later, ok? What’s the plan, Dean?” Sam interrupts and Castiel is especially grateful for the last part: letting Dean take charge is usually a good strategy for getting past the elder Winchester’s frustration and anger.

“Right now, we check out the cabin, see where they have Claire. That’s about as far as I’ve planned so far, beyond killing these sons-of-bitches,” Dean growls.

“We can’t kill the demon vessels: at least one of them is a kid, and Claire’s friend,” Cas reminds him.

“Yeah, but we can send the smokey assholes back to the Hell. And fuck Crowley; the witch is going to pay.” Without another word, Dean stalks off in the direction of the cabin. Sam and Cas exchange a quick knowing look, then follow Dean.

“Wait, Dean,” Sam calls softy, and he has fished what look like hex bags and anti-spell charms out from his jacket pockets. “Grabbed these from the truck before I left. Dunno if they’re powerful enough, but can’t hurt.”

Dean grunts, but he accepts his bag and charm, shoving them in his own pockets. Cas does the same. They continue towards the cabin, Cas’ shoulder bumping against Dean’s occasionally and he feels comforted by the contact. Suddenly, as they make their way through the tangle of underbrush having abandoned the road in favor of more cover, Cas is horribly reminded of Purgatory where the only comfort in that place had been with Dean; the memory brings with it an acidic bitterness on his tongue. He swallows and leans a little closer to his partner.

At the edge of the tree line, they stop. There are weak lights from the cabin windows, and Castiel thinks he can see a worn path in the grass around the side of the house; he imagines that might lead to a bulkhead or door to the basement. Dean gives him a nod, and Castiel moves silently towards the cabin, leaving Dean and Sam behind. Stealth has never been a Winchester trait, and so Castiel has often found himself the one doing recon on hunts. Luckily, he doesn’t have to go far before a woman—Rowena—moves past a window, and behind her, Castiel can see a familiar blonde figure bound to a chair. Another woman, who Castiel assumes must be one of the demons, stands guard beside Claire.

Claire doesn’t appear to be hurt, and although his nerves are fraught with tension and an overwhelming urge to rush in and grab her, Cas is also fiercely proud to see the defiant jut of her chin as she tracks Rowena’s progress around the room. Claire isn’t beaten yet.

Quickly, he returns to the brothers after also determining that the path around the house does indeed lead to a bulkhead.

“Well?” Dean asks sharply.

“Rowena has Claire in the main room, bound. One of the demons is there. I didn’t see anyone else, so I would assume Heather is still in the basement—there's a bulkhead around the side there—and the demon possessing Kyle is mostly likely keeping watch there.”

“Fine,” Dean says, his voice cold; he is in pure hunter/solider mode, and it takes less than a second for a plan to emerge. “Sam, you circle round back and get the kids out. Remember, exorcise the kid, don’t kill him.”

It’s a testament to how anxious they are to get this right that Sam doesn’t even comment or protest about the needless reminder not to kill some teenage kid; Cas is thankful to see the younger Winchester just nod.

“Me ‘n Cas’ll get Claire and deal with Rowena. Cas, you get Claire out no matter what, ok? Even if that means leaving me to deal with the witch and the demon.”

Cas wants to protest and say he won’t leave Dean behind, but he knows that argument will be futile and will just add more stress that they don’t need. Like Sam, he nods, but he knows he might not be able to keep that promise. Dean does have a point, though: their priority needs to be to get Claire and the other kids out.

_He can handle himself, he’s done this before, stop worrying…_

The mantra on loop in Cas’ head does little to actually calm him, but it’s better than nothing.

Without another word, Sam moves towards the path to find the basement. Castiel turns back towards the cabin once again. A rough hand grabs his upper arm and spins him around. Dean kisses him swift and hard before Cas even has a chance to really process what's happening. They let their foreheads touch for just a moment before separating, although their stare lasts probably longer than most would consider necessary.

Cas would have to disagree.


	10. Exorcism

Sam approaches the bulkhead without incident. If anyone is guarding prisoners in the basement, they must be down there as well, which unfortunately makes taking them unawares impossible. Once the bulkhead opens, the demon will know he’s there.

He takes a small disposable bottle of holy water out of a pocket and loosens the cap, then calls up the voice recording of the exorcism on his phone, just in case, before slipping the device back into his pocket to free his hand. Not for the first time, Sam wishes he could still exorcize demons with his mind, minus the crippling demon-blood addiction.

Since stealth is out of the question, he opts for a quick and disorienting attack, hoping to take the demon off-guard. With a bellow, he crashes open the bulkhead, rushes down the steps, and is greeted with the sight of a teenage boy with deadly black eyes turning swiftly to face the hunter’s attack. Without warning, Sam throws the water bottle at the demon, the loosened cap effectively turning the bottle into a holy water grenade. The boy shrieks, and in the corner of his eye, Sam can see a teenage girl pressing her back against the far wall, her mouth open in horror.

“Kyle!” the girl calls, but Sam knows this isn’t Kyle, not yet.

Sam notices all of this even though he has not stopped his attack. His voice is strong and clear as he recites the familiar Latin chant, “ _Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Domino qui fertis ascendit super caelum caeli ad Orientem Ecce dabit voci suae vocem tribuite vitutem deo!”_

Black smoke erupts from the boy’s mouth, and the sound rips at Sam’s eardrums. No matter how many demons he exorcizes, it will never be something the younger Winchester enjoys. The demon smoke dissipates, and the boy collapses, a sheen of sweat covering his face and making his mousy brown hair flop limply across his forehead. The seventeen-year-old looks so much younger like this, and Sam rushes forward to check the unconscious figure. He is beaten there, however, by the girl.

“Kyle! Kyle, wake up, hon,” she says shaking his shoulder and pushing his hair back from his forehead in an almost maternal gesture. Kyle opens his eyes blearily and the girl laughs in relief.

“Heather?” he croaks. “What—what happened to me? Oh God…what did I do?” He looks like he’s about to cry, but manfully chokes back his tears as Heather helps him sit up, and they both seem to finally see Sam, who has crouched down to be at roughly eye level with the teen.

“It wasn’t you, Kyle,” Heather assures him. “It was…it was a demon. You’re ok now.”

Sam is instantly impressed with the girl’s calm. “Are either of you hurt?”

Heather shakes her head and Kyle just shudders. “I think I’m all right,” he says shakily.  

“Are you Dean or Cas?” Heather asks.

“No, I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. Dean and Cas are getting Claire upstairs. C’mon, if you can walk we’ve got to get you out of here.”

Sam and Heather each grab Kyle under his arms and help him to his feet. The teen takes a moment to get his bearings, clutching Heather’s arm for balance. Slowly, they make their way up the steps outside, and Sam guides them to the tree line. He looks back at the cabin when he hears shouting—Dean’s voice—and a flash of bright light from the windows. He tries not to worry about what might be happening to his family; right now, he has to get these two kids to safety and he doesn’t want to leave them alone in the woods, not when he doesn’t know if there are other demons out there.

As they move through the underbrush, Heather still supporting Kyle and Sam leading the way, gun and knife at the ready, a thought occurs to Sam.

“How come only Kyle was possessed, Heather? Why didn’t they possess you, too?”

“I’m not sure why they didn’t at first, but they couldn’t have once we got here,” Heather explains, though the response puzzles Sam. He turns to look at her.

“What do you mean, they couldn’t have?”

Heather stops, and honestly, Kyle looks grateful for the momentary rest. The girl rolls up her sleeve and Sam sees a clumsily, but no less effective, copy of the tattoo he himself has on his chest. He smiles in understanding.

“Claire’s idea?”

“Yeah. She kept it together back in the basement. I still can’t believe any of this,” Heather says and Kyle dumbly nods in agreement, his eyes blank. Sam nods with a small smile.

“Kyle, how’re you doing? Can you make it the rest of the way to the truck?”

“How far is it?” Kyle asks fearfully.

“Not far. Just past that clump of trees over there,” Sam says pointing. He weighs his options, then pulls his keys out of his pocket. “Heather, can you drive standard?”

Heather bristles at the question. “What, ‘cause I’m a girl?” she asks huffily.

Sam rolls his eyes. He does not have the energy to deal with this, even though at any other time he would sympathize with her defensiveness and annoyance. “Heather, I don’t give a crap if you’re a girl or a guy—if you and Kyle switched places, I'd be asking him the same thing. If you can’t drive stick, you can’t drive my truck—end of story. So, can you?”

“Yes,” she grumbles, snatching the keys from his hands.

“Good. Take the truck, get back to the main road and turn right. You’ll find the highway. Go to your house, or Kyle’s house, and put solid lines of salt around all the window sills and doors. If you don’t have enough for the whole house, get everyone into one room, like a basement, and salt the doors and windows there. _Do not cross or break the salt lines._ If you got spray paint, copy the devil’s trap on your arm onto the floor in front of the door. Got that?”

“Yeah,” Heather says determinedly. “What about you? And Claire?”

“I’m going back to get them. We’ll take my brother’s car. Now, repeat what you’re going to do when you get home.” Sam feels a bit bad treating her like a young kid, but he needs to be sure she has the instructions right.

“Main road, turn right. Get home. Solid salt lines around the doors and windows. Spray paint the mark on my arm on the floor.” Heather takes a deep breath, then grabs Kyle’s arm again. “C’mon, Kyle, let’s get you home.”

“Ok,” Kyle mumbles. “Heather, I’m so sorry…”

“No, don’t be. Don’t worry about it. Not now, ok? C’mon, I gotcha.”

Sam makes sure they make it to the truck, watches Heather adjust the seat and mirrors while Kyle slumps into the passenger seat. The truck’s engine turns over, and Heather does a neat three-point turn before rumbling down the broken dirt path. Satisfied that Heather and Kyle are as safe as they can be, he heads back towards the cabin, his long legs carrying him swiftly over the uneven ground. Absently, he thinks that Claire finally made some good decisions picking friends.


	11. Showdown

Because nothing in her life could ever be simple, Claire’s latest messed up thought is _I wish my hands and feet were tied with actual rope._ Not that she wants to be tied up, but if it were rope, maybe she’d have chance of escaping. But a magical binding spell? No such luck, unless she can take down the witch who cast it. Claire doesn’t want to admit defeat, but she’s not seeing many opportunities to get to Rowena. Even if she could get free of the spell, Talia stands beside her, a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her down into the chair, which Claire is also magically bound to.

The spell wraps around her in sickly green coils of light, and no matter what she does, they keep her still. After her first attempts to break free, the coils had tightened around her chest and Rowena had laughed; since then Claire has sit stilly so as not to be bound so tight that she can’t breathe. She doesn’t know if Rowena would let that happen to her, since she is bait after all, but she also has no desire to test the theory.

Suddenly, Claire hears a deep bellow from the back of the cabin. Just as she recognizes it as Sam’s voice, Dean and Cas burst into the cabin, Cas furiously chanting the Latin exorcism at Talia while Dean pushes Rowena to the wall, a large knife pressed against the woman’s throat.

Talia’s mouth erupts in black smoke and the woman collapses to the floor. Cas runs to them, checks the woman’s vitals, then studies Claire’s bindings.

“Are you hurt?” he asks half-frantically, and Claire shakes her head. “Can you move out of this at all?”

“No, when I did before, she tightened it even more.”

“Fuck,” Cas breathes, and if it were any other situation, Claire might have been surprised to hear the former angel swear since he does so infrequently. “Dean!”

But Dean doesn’t respond. His face is snarling in a way that Claire hasn’t seen since he bore the Mark, and Claire thinks that either the witch doesn’t realize just how bad that is for her or she’s more powerful than they know because Rowena is still _smiling_ , her lips curling upwards devilishly, even with the blade nicking the pale skin of her neck.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Dean Winchester,” the witch taunts.

“And why the fuck not?” the hunter spits. Rowena’s eyes flash with mirth, and Claire sees her rub a red stone in her hand.

The green coils release her, but Claire’s vision clouds over with red.  

_Kill them. Attack them. Kill kill kill kill kill. Attack. Rip. Claw. Kill._

She hurls herself at Cas, dimly aware that he shouting her name.

“Claire! No, Claire!”

_Kill kill blood kill._

Her hands are scrabbling at him and he grips her wrists, forcing them away from his face.

 _The eyes. The eyes are the weak spot. Claw them out..._ _No! It’s Cas! Fight it!_

He looks scared, but not for himself, she thinks. She wants to stop, wants to do anything other than attack Cas like a rabid animal, but the red in her vision deepens.

_Attack. Kill. Blood. Kill._

One hand breaks free and nearly finds purchase around Cas' neck, but he takes advantage of the imbalance in her position and rolls her off of him and to the side. He grabs her free wrist again and holds her hands away from both of them, keeping them from doing any harm to either. The red lessens slightly as she realizes through the haze that he is refusing to fight back except in defense. 

_Kill him...No!_

“Dean!” Cas cries.

“What did you do to her!” She can hear the hunter's fear, the weakness.  _He will be next._

“I’m the only one who can break the spell, dear. I would move that knife if I were you.” The lilting voice is laced with power and Claire feels the spell's hold on her intensify. _  
_

_Kill kill kill kill ki—_

Faintly, she hears Dean step back slightly and Rowena mutter something in another language.

Her vision clears and her wrists are shot with pain; Cas’ fingers are almost crushing the bones, although they loosen as he realizes she is back to herself. She falls into his chest, her knees weak, and he wraps her arms around her.

“Cas, get her out of here!” Dean roars, and Claire finds herself being half-dragged to the door, which slams shut of its own accord before they reach it.

“Really, boys. I thought you were the best,” Rowena croons, still pinned to the wall by Dean, although the knife is lowered. “I did think of saving your deaths for a more demonic audience, but now I think the girl will be enough.”

Without warning, the witch's eyes flash and glow red, and she begins chanting something foreign in a voice that sounds far too deep to be natural. Red symbols appear on her bare arms, and they too begin to glow. Dean backs up, releasing her and covering his eyes. Claire squints and turns her face back into Cas’ shirt. The power in the room is blinding and deafening, even though there is no real sound; Claire can feel its pressure on her eardrums.

She hears Dean and Cas begin to groan in pain, and it’s all she can do to keep from beginning to sob. Cas’ legs give out from under him, as do Dean’s, and the two men drop to the ground, their hands pressed to the sides of their heads. Whatever the witch is doing isn’t effecting Claire nearly as much, and she crouches to Cas, turning him, and grabbing the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. The weapon is heavy and cold in her hands, and she straightens to face Rowena. Just as she’s about to draw the weapon up, a calm British voice breaks through the spell’s pressure.

“Hello, Mother.”


	12. Friends Close, Enemies Closer

To be honest, there are times Crowley misses the Apocalypse, or even the Leviathans chomping their way through the world. Not that he wants the toothy bastards back, mind, but at least they had kept things interesting.

The tableau before him, though, is just so familiar that he starts to wonder why he bothered. He’d lifted Rowena’s spell as soon as he’d appeared, and now Squirrel is all righteously angry and overprotective and snarling— _adorable, really_ —and Castiel is all smitey-looking and utterly impotent in that department— _and what a bloody shame that is…_—and of course, both of them are all threatening towards the one person who is about to save their sorry asses again. _Bloody hell. So predictable. Except—where’s Moose? Those frustratingly co-dependent morons rarely go far without the other._

Except of course, if their eyes are demon-black, but those delightful tidbits are stories for another day…

“Crowley, I—” Dean begins to growl, but Crowley quickly interrupts.

“Not now, Squirrel. We can exchange sweet nothings later.” Crowley turns, hands in his pockets, to face the former angel, who has put himself between the demon and the blonde girl. “I’m sure Castiel won’t mind,” the King of Hell smirks, and he is rewarded with an extra smiteful glare.

“Fergus!” Rowena cries, her eyes filling with crocodile tears. “The things they’ve done to me! I’m so glad you’ve come—”

“Enough, Mother. Even for you, this display is sickeningly…cheap,” Crowley says with a look of supreme condescension.

“Fuck it, Crowley, I don’t give a shit what you and Sammy said, but I didn’t cut any fucking deals with you and that bitch is going to pay,” Dean snarls. “So explain to me why I’m letting both of you live right now.”

“Ah, yes, Dean. Of course. Because you were doing _so_ well on your own against her spell when I arrived. Bravo.” Crowley rolls his eyes. _Fucking Winchester bravado._ “Now, back to the little pickle we have here. Squirrel, why don’t you take your Graceless pet—sorry, sore spot still, is it?—and your little juvy and go on your way, and I’ll take—”

“And you’ll do what, Fergus?" Rowena scoffs. "You’ll take me and let these Winchesters go, again? You’re the King of Hell! Bloody act like it!”

“Enough, Mother,” Crowley repeats calmly, and he notes that Dean’s blade is starting to come up again. Crowley sighs and waves a finger; the cabin door magically unlocks and swings open.

“Cas, take Claire and get the fuck out of here,” Dean growls with forced calm.

“Dean.” The former angel may be Graceless, but Crowley has to hand it to him: he knows how to put power behind a word.

“Dammit, Cas, this isn’t a fucking debate. Get Claire out. _Now!_ ” The hunter’s eyes only briefly leave their predatory stare towards the demon and the witch to look at Castiel, but even Crowley, demon that he is, can see the bloody obvious love in that glance. He suppresses an inward shudder. _Feelings. Ugh._

“Go ahead, Castiel. Unlike some, I actually keep the deals I make.” It doesn’t matter that it’s been years since Crowley and Castiel’s Purgatory plan went off the rails—and considering what a clusterfuck the aftermath had been, Crowley isn’t all that upset over the betrayal—but the pained and guilty expression on the ex-celestial git’s face is well worth dragging up old news.

“This isn’t over, Crowley,” Castiel’s gravelly voice menaces.

“You really have been spending a lot of time with Squirrel, haven’t you? Picking up on some of that world-class wit, I see,” Crowley taunts with a wink.

“Cas…” Dean warns, though not angrily. Castiel clamps his mouth shut at whatever snappy retort the socially demented fallen bastard was sure to spit out, and instead takes the young girl out of the cabin.

Rowena just starts cackling as all of this plays out, and it’s all Crowley can do not to rub his eyes in annoyance.

“And what, Mother, do you find so amusing now?”

“My son, King of Hell—wee lapdog for the Winchesters! Right now, word’s already spreading about all this, that you came to rescue them!”

“So I assume this is the reason for this little kidnapping scheme of yours?”

“It’s the best reason: you!” Rowena vows, eyes wide with concern—fake, of course—and she starts to move towards Crowley. A guttural sound from the hunter, who gestures to her with the point of his knife, ends her approach.

“What the fuck is she talking about and why the fuck is she still talking at all?” Dean spits.

“See? I might say the same about you, boy,” Rowena sneers at the hunter, then turns back to Crowley. “I thought if they were gone…”

“I know exactly what you thought. And I know that you were wrong. You really thought this little display would work? Perhaps you’re right, I’ve let Moose and Squirrel and Feathers live too long. Maybe I did lose my edge. But that ends now. You went behind my back. Now, what message do you suppose I’ll be sending my minions if I punish my own _mother_ for plotting and scheming?”

“You…you can’t,” Rowena’s voice trembles as Crowley approaches.

“I can. I’m bloody Crowley! I’m the King of Hell. I do what I want, when I want. And I don’t take orders from you.”

Crowley snaps, and his two henchdemons appear again, flanking the witch. With a simple nod from the King, the trio vanishes amid shouted profanities from both Rowena and Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter adapts dialogue fairly liberally from 10x17, but I had to re-order some of it and tweak it. I also wanted Crowley to be more of the snarky badass of yore than he has been lately on the show.
> 
> Oh and I also totally believe that way more happened between Crowley and Demon!Dean than we were told (hence the few allusions in this and Chapter 7)...but I think it's best to just let imagination (or other fic writers) fill in those blanks...


	13. Wise Words

“What the fuck, Crowley?” Dean spits as the witch and two of those black-eyed bastards disappear. He glares at the King of Hell, the smarmy sonofabitch— _literally…fucking Rowena_ —who is still standing there with his hands in his pockets, calm as you please. Once again, the demon raises a hand and the cabin door slams shut; Dean’s stuck until the bastard decides he’s done. Dean’s anger is still rising and if he didn’t know better, he’d think it’s the Mark—and really, that had been one of the worst parts of the Mark: knowing he has that darkness in him even without the curse. “So what, you’re going put Rowena in a time-out until she pulls a jail break? If she comes anywhere near us again, I’ll kill her.”

“Dean, now that your latest Mark is a little more Enochian and a lot less murdery, I suggest you stop the posturing,” Crowley snarks with a pointed look at Dean’s right arm.

Dean barks a laugh. “Really, Crowley? I thought you were smarter than that. You think the only reason I’d ever go after Rowena is if I still had the fucking Mark of Cain? Bitch messes with my family, bitch dies. Kind of standard fare for the Winchesters, and you should know that by now.”

“Well, that’s just it, though, isn’t it?” Crowley asks somewhat rhetorically, and Dean notices the demon’s posture slump minutely.

“What’s just what, jackass?”

“Family.”

Dean stares at Crowley, his jaw fighting desperately not to drop. “Seriously? You want to play the fucking family card with me?”

“Why not? You just said it yourself: it’s the same old song for the Winchesters. You and Moose have been destroying the world and yourselves for years over each other.”

“My brother isn’t a psychopathic murderer who kidnaps kids.”

“I really don’t suggest trying to claim the moral high ground for long, Squirrel. You and your brother both have too many skeletons in the closet for that,” Crowley mocks quietly. Dean wishes he had a response to that, but—and he’ll never admit it—the bastard’s right. Dean still isn’t convinced they’ve got nonrefundable tickets upstairs when all is said and done.

Dean starts weighing his options, trying to decide whether or not to finally kill Crowley and be done with the asshole once and for all. As if the demon can read his mind, Crowley provides the other side to the hunter’s inner debate.

“You won’t kill me. Nature abhors a vacuum and the throne of Hell won’t stay empty for long. Devil you know, and all that.”

The hunter scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m sure your dear sweet mother will be first in line to take the job, if she isn’t already angling for it.” If Dean wasn’t familiar with Crowley—and fuck does he hate that he _is_ that familiar—he might have missed the expression flash across the demon’s face. “I hitting a little close to home there, Crowley?”

“I can’t kill her.”

“Man, you have gone soft. Maybe it’s all the human blood that Sammy pumped into you, you know? Maybe it’s, uh…I don’t know. I don’t know. But the old Crowley, he would have come in here with hellhounds and demons, and he would have blown the roof off the joint. Now? You’re content to lock Rowena up and you want to talk. Why you letting Mommy Dearest tie you in knots?” _And why the fuck am I still talking to this bastard?_

“Because…we’re family. Blood.” Crowley shrugs as if this explains everything.

“That’s not the same thing,” Dean counters, but even as he speaks he feels the fight going out of him. Maybe it’s the logical part of him taking over now that the immediate danger is over, maybe it’s the talk of family. He sighs. _Here I am playing Dr. Phil to the King of Hell. Never saw that coming._ “A wise man once told me, ‘family don’t end in blood,’ but it doesn’t start there, either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad—all of it. They got your back, even when it hurts. That’s family. That sound like your mother?”

For once, the King of Hell looks like he’s at a loss of words.

“We fucking done here?” Dean asks angrily. This sparks Crowley back into action.

“What no more threats of violence against yours truly? Maybe you’ve gone soft, too.”

“Maybe I have. Maybe you’re right: I won’t kill you—Devil you know. But right now, I don’t give a flying fuck. You can go deal with Hell’s soap opera, but that doesn’t mean that I still won’t kill Rowena if she crosses my path.”

“Fine,” concedes Crowley. The cabin door swings open and the demon disappears. Before the night can take anymore fucked up turns, Dean heads out, running into Sam on his way back to the cabin just as he reaches the tree line.


	14. Home

Cas can feel Claire’s body shaking as they make their way back to the Impala. They had run into Sam a few minutes ago, and after Sam had assured Claire that Heather was safe and was taking Kyle home, they had parted ways—Sam back to the cabin, Cas and Claire to the car. Castiel had been torn: he couldn’t bear the thought of Dean on his own and not being able to help, but he couldn’t leave Claire. He would have to trust Sam to make sure Dean makes it home.

Claire had been holding it together pretty well until they made it out of the cabin, but the pressure and emotional strain of the day—not to mention the aftereffects of whatever spell Rowena had put on her—are taking their toll. They move slowly through the woods, Cas’s arm around Claire’s shoulder. At last they reach the car, but Cas realizes belatedly Dean has the key. _Dammit._

If he absolutely had to, he could break into the car and hotwire it, but that’s certainly a “last resort” option. Considering the hell—literal and figurative—they’ve been through collectively, Castiel in no way believes they have reached that stage. He also believes, somewhat seriously, that he’d rather do another round in Purgatory than explain to Dean that he broke into his Baby and hotwired her. They can wait for the brothers to return.

“Are you ok, Claire?” They huddle against the car; the night isn’t too cold, but the chill is starting to set in and become uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I think so. Dean and Sam’ll be back soon,” she says and Cas wonders who she’s trying to reassure.

“I know.”

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” Claire says in a near-whisper. “I think that’s the only reason I didn’t freak out in there. I knew you and Dean and Sam would come.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely true. You’re strong and resourceful. It’s too bad your phone was taken before you could use the exorcism. That was good thinking.”

Cas feels Claire straighten up a bit at his side and though it’s too dark to really see her expression, he can hear the small smile and note of pride in her words. “I had Heather copy my tattoo onto her arm.”

“See? You barely needed me and Dean. I think we ‘freaked out’ more than you did.”

“You just mentally did air quotes, didn’t you?”

“…Yes…”

Claire laughs, and Cas is relieved to hear that it is genuine. “Doof.”

Despite the stress of the night, Cas can feel the corners of his mouth twitch up and the tension in his shoulders loosen. He pulls Claire in a little tighter, and they wait for Sam and Dean to return. Finally, after what seems like an eternity but is probably no more than twenty minutes, the brothers appear and they quickly pile into the car and leave the cabin behind in the gloomy woods.

 

 

An hour later, Dean and Castiel are waiting outside of Heather’s house, leaning against the car in a strange imitation of Cas and Claire’s positions earlier. All of them had gone in to check on Heather and Kyle, but once it became clear that Claire and Sam had everything under control, Dean and Cas had quietly slipped out. This—calming victims—has always been the part that Sam is better at, and it makes sense that Heather and Kyle trust the younger Winchester more since he had been the one to get them out of the cabin. Dean keeps looking anxiously at the house, his arms crossed and the fingers of one hand drumming against his bicep.

“Dean? They’re safe in there,” Cas says soothingly.

“What?” Dean answers distractedly. “Oh…yeah…I know…”

The door finally opens, and Sam comes down the porch steps, Claire not far behind.

“How are Heather and Kyle?” Cas asks Sam.

“Fine, I think. Or they will be.” Without further conversation, Sam climbs into the car, taking the passenger seat, knowing that Cas will want to sit in the back with Claire.

Cas realizes that Dean barely notices Sam, and instead has pushed himself up off of the car and wrapped Claire in what is surely a bone-crushing hug.

“Glad you’re ok, kiddo,” Dean mutters. Cas thinks maybe he should get into the car as well; he knows Dean is never comfortable with great shows of emotion, despite the fact that he feels more deeply than almost any other human Cas has ever met.

Claire doesn’t say anything, and Cas can see that she is hugging the hunter back just as tightly. A certain warmth spreads from Cas’ heart and suddenly the night’s chill seems to disappear.

“And uh....what Cas said in his text. It’s true, you know that, right? From both of us.” Dean swallows, and his voice gets even gruffer as though he’s trying to choke down the concern and emotion in his voice. “Still pissed we didn’t kill her. No one fucks with my family.”

Castiel smiles because of course this would be how Dean tells her he loves her like his own; he just hopes Claire understands that.

“Yeah, I know, Dean,” Claire finally answers as they separate, but not before Dean kisses the top of her head. Cas sees Claire’s smile spread back across her face, and he instinctively knows some sort of snarky remark is coming. He wonders why he was worried Claire wouldn’t understand Dean; they really do speak the same language. “Guess, you’re getting old, Dean. Not as badass as you used to be.”

Dean chokes out a laugh and fumbles for a witty retort, and just like that, the moment is over and they are back to normal. Sam would probably roll his eyes and say they’re emotionally stunted and need to really talk, but Cas just watches the banter with relief. It’s taken him years, but Cas is finally realizing that as long as both parties understand, do the words really matter?

Still sniping each other good-naturedly, Dean and Claire get into the car. Cas slides into the backseat with Claire who leans her head on his shoulder as the Impala’s engine rumbles to life and they head back home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback always appreciated. :)


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